“Have you ever kissed a guy before?” She rolled the tissue into a ball in her lap and stared at it. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. I am sure I never enjoyed so much popularity in my life. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion.
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